


seashells by the seashore

by suneye



Series: shadowhunters wlw bingo 2019 [5]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Adulting Is Difficult: The Fanfic, Comic Artist Clary, F/F, Fluff, Meet-Cute, marine biologist maia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 04:17:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20252053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suneye/pseuds/suneye
Summary: "Go to the beach and draw some seashells. You always loved drawing those when you were little."Clary glances out the window. It looks like it’s going to rain.





	seashells by the seashore

**Author's Note:**

> last bingo fic! once more for team orange. this time I used the prompt "post-college meet-cute"
> 
> warnings: one passing mention of food and a few brief mentions of death (in a lighthearted, joking manner). and also inaccuracies, because I'll bet anything this isn't actually how being an artist or a marine biologist works but, hey, it's all for fun
> 
> I also just want to take a moment to say this has been one of the best experiences I've had in fandom spaces and I'm so thankful to the library and everyone who's participated for creating such a fun and supportive environment and inspiring me to write and to share that writing. I for one can't wait to binge-read all the works in the collection and I suggest everyone does the same. anyways, enjoy!

“I’m gonna get fired and die young and unfulfilled with my artistic potential unrealized.”

Magnus sighs over the phone. “Do you always have to be so  _ dramatic  _ about everything?”

“Yes!” Clary cries, flopping down backwards onto her bed. “I interned at this place for two years and the _second_ they give me an actual job with actual money in it, I get hit with the worst art block I’ve ever had. It’s like the universe is against me achieving my dreams.”

“It’s not the universe, it’s you struggling to adjust to a different routine,” Magnus says. “You’ve been in school your whole life. It’s a big change. But you didn't study all those years for nothing, you know what you’re doing. This is just something you have to work through.”

Clary groans; partly because she doesn’t believe him, but mostly because she knows he’s right. “ _ Please _ don’t go all therapist on me right now.”

“I’m not playing therapist, I’m playing godparent. Get off your ass and _draw_.”

“But  _ how _ ?”

“I don’t know,  _ you’re  _ the artist!” Magnus says. “Draw an apple or something. Or go to the beach and draw some seashells. You always loved drawing those when you were little.”

Clary glances out the window. It looks like it’s going to rain.

“It’s too cold to go to the beach.”

“I know for a fact you own at least one sweater.”

Clary sighs. He’s right, as always - moping and waiting around to screw up the job isn't going to help. She might as well try to do something about it. She does have a mostly-empty sketchbook and new charcoal pencils she hasn’t had a chance to try out yet.

“Yeah, alright, I’ll give it a shot,” she tells him. “Thanks, Magnus.”

“Anytime, biscuit.”

*

The beach is cold and grey and ugly, but not as deserted as Clary had expected. There are a few people idling by the water, in various degrees of undress, and even more people lounging around on beach blankets, conversing among themselves.  Clary sets down her own blanket and, trying to ignore the sand, puts on her headphones, takes out her sketchbook, and begins to draw. So far, she’s only found one seashell pretty enough to even want to look at, let alone draw, and no crabs, but she decides it could be worse.

After drawing that same seashell in every way imaginable and hating every single iteration, she decides that no, actually, it couldn’t be worse, this sucks. She picks up the seashell and tosses it angrily behind her.

Just as she’s about to call Magnus so he can talk her through this again, someone taps her on the shoulder. Clary turns, startled, to see a woman standing above her with a beach towel and a book tucked under one arm while the other arm is extended towards Clary.

Clary rips off her earbuds, mortified, when she sees what the woman is holding.

“You lose this?” the woman asks, holding the previously-discarded seashell out towards Clary.

“Please tell me that didn’t hit you.”

“Just my arm,” the woman says. She doesn’t sound particularly angry about it, though.

“Crap, I am _so_ sorry.” Clary takes the seashell back and begs whatever higher power is watching over her to drag her under the sand right now before she dies from embarrassment, which will undoubtedly be more painful.

“Seashell kill your family or something?” the woman teases. “I have to know what it did to be shunned by you like that.”

“I was trying to draw it,” Clary admits. “But my hands weren’t cooperating. It wasn’t its fault, it just got caught in the crossfire.”

“That’s always sad to see,” the woman says. “Well, best of luck to you.”

She smiles at Clary. Clary tilts her head up to smile back, humiliated as she feels. It's only polite. That’s when she gets her first proper look at the other woman: brown skin glowing under what little sunlight has managed to part the clouds today, big dark eyes and long eyelashes, full lips pulled into a bright smile, curls blowing in the wind.

Clary almost blurts out “marry me” on the spot.

The stranger begins to walk away to a less crowded part of the beach. Clary leaps up. “Wait!”

The woman stops and turns back to her, frowning in confusion. Clary runs up to her, wringing her hands together nervously, and takes a deep breath.

“Can I draw you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m an artist,” Clary explains quickly. “I’d like to sketch you, if that’s okay. You can keep the drawing if you want. I could just really use the practice.”

“Um, sure,” the woman looks suddenly self-conscious as she fixes her hair and smooths down her dress. “But why?”

“Because you’re beautiful,” Clary says. She shuts her eyes and curses herself for her lack of filter when the woman’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. But, sadly, still no response on the sand-opening-up-and-swallowing-her-whole end. “I mean…I would love to draw you. Or at least try to. If that's okay with you. May I?”

The woman cocks her head to one side. “Are you hitting on me?”

“No!” Clary says quickly. As much as she wants to, she has bigger problems, like needing to get over this art block so she can draw the damn comic and ensure herself a job for the next year or so. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“I didn’t say I was uncomfortable,” the woman says, quickly looking her up and down. She offers Clary her hand. “I’m Maia, by the way.”

Clary lets out a sigh of relief and shakes her hand. “Clary.”

“Nice to meet you, Clary. Is it okay if I read while you sketch?”

“Yeah, that’s totally fine,” Clary says, unable to keep herself from smiling. “Thank you so much.”

So Maia places her blanket down near Clary’s and makes her way through chapter after chapter of  _ Frankenstein  _ while Clary studies her and tries to get the lines of her face right. Clary stops herself from starting conversation multiple times, not wanting to interrupt her. But, surprisingly, Maia is the one who finally breaks the silence some time later.

“So…” Maia starts, keeping her face turned to her book to keep her pose the same. “You’re an artist?”

“Yup,” Clary says. “Comic artist, to be specific. But it’s hard to draw twenty pages of monsters and werewolves in epic battle when you can’t even bring yourself to draw a freaking seashell. What about you?”

Maia sighs. “Well, I just graduated top of my class with a degree in marine biology,” she says. “So, naturally, I’m still interning and bartending.”

Clary makes a small noise of acknowledgment and sympathy as she adds the finishing touches to Maia’s neck and hair in her drawing.

“It’s not so bad, though,” Maia says a little more optimistically. “I might get offered a job as a research assistant soon. That would be pretty cool.”

“I’m sure you will,” Clary says encouragingly. “It’s tough when you’ve just graduated. Guess we just gotta hang in there, work through it and all that.”

Maia chuckles. “Wise words.”

“Just something a friend of mine said earlier.” Clary carefully tears the page out of her sketchbook and holds it out towards Maia. “I’m done, by the way.”

Maia finally looks away from her book. Her eyes widen at the drawing. “Oh my god, Clary, this is amazing!” she exclaims.

Clary can feel herself start to blush. “You think so?.”

“Yes! I can’t believe you’re letting me keep this for free.”

“It's not half as pretty as the model.”

“Oh, shut up, it's perfect.” Maia looks up from the page and Clary nearly melts at her smile. “Can I give you something in exchange? You don’t have to keep it, but I thought you might want it.”

“Yeah, sure, of course.”

Maia gestures at her sketchbook and pencil and Clary scrambles to hand them to her. Maia opens the book to a blank page and scribbles something down quickly, then shuts it and hands both items back to Clary with a grin.

“I hope you like it,” she says, sitting back to pack her things up. “I gotta get going, though. Good luck with the comic.”

“Thanks,” Clary says. “And good luck with the research assistant job.”

Maia waves goodbye and walks off the beach towards the parking lot. Once she’s almost out of sight, Clary finally opens her sketchbook to the page Maia was using.

Maia has written a phone number -  _ her  _ phone number - with a little heart next to it.

Clary hugs her sketchbook to her chest and tries her hardest not to squeal in delight. She’s going to buy Magnus his third “World’s Best Godparent” mug of the month. She’s going to dedicate an entire museum to that stupid, impossible-to-draw seashell. And most importantly, she is  _ definitely  _ going to call Maia.


End file.
